One Minute There
by TheLongDrought2013
Summary: Kurt and Finn are kidnapped by three mysterious men and their fate rests in the fields.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Blood runs into his hair. His arm burns. The bullet grazes his shoulder and he falls onto the floor. He spins on the floor, trying to breathe. Fire hot _pain _seizes his body. Finn screams and collapses onto the kitchen tile. Cradling his stepbrother to his chest, he ignores the blood as he holds Kurt in his arms.  
He leans into those burly arms and hopes for salvation. The men dressed in dark colors advance toward them. Sirens wail in the distance. They flee. Finn glares at them as they pull Kurt out of his arms by force. He looks at Finn, hoping he can save him. They shove guns into his face and they haul him out of the kitchen.  
"Take _both _of them," Paul says, "Leave Carole here. She can run negotiations later on-she won't sacrifice her son."  
"No," Finn protests as Joey shoves him onto his feet, "leave my brother here. Please. I'll go with you."  
"I don't think so," Simon replies, "you're coming with us."  
Blood spills out of his arm. He gasps for air, for something beside the pain radiating down his left side. They carry him away from his house. Carole stays in the living room, the gunmen forcing her to remain behind. She cries out as the men march the two boys into the garage. She refuses to keep silent. The garage twirls under his unsteady feet.  
They drag them into a sedan. The leather seats surprise him and he feels the smooth material under his back. They shove Finn into the car and he lands by his side. Picking him up off of the seat, Finn holds Kurt and lets him bleed all over his football jersey that he wears to bed every Friday night. He cries as the car pulls out of the driveway. Tears roll down Finn's cheeks. Fear runs through their veins.

"She didn't mean it," Finn says, "You know my mom. I swear, she didn't mean what she said Kurt."

His head rests against his broad chest. The car merges onto the highway. Night swells around them. The wind rattles through the trees. He lets Finn hold him and wishes it were Blaine Anderson instead. The thought of his crush comforts him as he bleeds onto the seat and the driver turns on the radio. These men trapped them in less than an hour.

The pain tears up his mind, leaves him breathless and cold. Finn cries for a doctor. The car stops at a deserted rest stop. The two young men tremble as the men up front get out of the sedan and walk around the car. Paul opens the back door. His grey eyes settle on Kurt. He points a thick finger at Finn.

"Put him on the picnic table," he commands, "we've got to be quick about it. Keep him quiet. We don't want to draw any attention. You understand, kid?"

Finn hugs him in a protective embrace. He clutches at his jersey, terror racing through his aching head. Finn slides out of the sedan with Kurt in his arms. They venture out into the dark winter night. The trees twirl as the men-Joey, Paul, and Simon-guide them over to the picnic table. He clutches his stepbrother, moaning when they lay him onto the wooden slab. A black bag appears at the end of the table.

"Keep him quiet if you want us to sew him up," Paul says, "Joey, give the kid your flask."

Joey, tall and large like a post, steps forward and he sets the silver can beside his wounded shoulder. Finn looks at him with worried eyes. He wants to go home, he wants to die there. His shoulder hurts with fierce fire. Picking up the flask, Finn presses it against his lips and he turns his head away. He hates the taste of alcohol. April showed him what it does to people.

He refrains from it after the incident at school, the one where he threw up all over the guidance counselor's shoes. Finn persists in his gentle administrations. The wind whips across his shoulders, making him shiver harder than before. He clutches at the table as the flask touches his lips again. The smell of whiskey travels up his nose. He gasps for whatever air he can inhale. The flask pushes into his bottom lip.

"Drink it kid," Paul says, "we'll patch you up right here."

Fear runs through his heart, gripping him in full as he complies and swallows down bitter whiskey. The taste leaves him grimacing. Finn holds his hands. A needle flies at his arm. Someone disinfects his bullet wound. He squirms under their hands.

The needle moves in and out of his skin, sewing it back together. The pain leaves him stupid and desperate for escape. He clutches Finn's broad hands. The park looks desolate in the winter wind. He lies on the bench and they put stitches in his arm. They throw a blanket over his exposed chest when they finish. He trembles in Finn's arms as they march them back toward the sedan.

They cannot run. Breathing requires most of his focus. He cries while Finn carries him to the car. Sliding into the back seat, they lay him down and order his stepbrother into the car. Finn hurries inside. Once they slam the door closed, strong arms wrap around him and haul him back to warmth. He leans against him and breathes.

The radio turns on once more. He listens to the classic rock station, unable to sleep in such pain. His body rocks on the seat. They ignore his soft groans of distress. Paul keeps driving. Joey smokes a cigarette in the passenger's seat. Simon sits beside Finn, watching every movement and studying every word they say.

They drive away from Lima. He shivers in the blankets as nausea rolls through him. Finn rubs at his back, trying to comfort him. His arm throbs.

"Do-do you have any more whiskey?" He asks.  
"He needs a doctor," Finn replies, "he may have stopped bleeding, but he's shaking like a leaf."  
"He'll live," Paul says, "but he's _ours _now. So are you."  
"I don't understand," Finn answers, "we live in Lima."  
Paul rolls his eyes.  
"You're not paying attention," he complains, "You're _ours_. You won't be coming home until your father does some things for us. Understand?"  
The statement chills him further. He pulls the blanket closer around his bare chest, worried for his future. The sedan weaves through barren hills. He thinks about Blaine as he curls into a fetal position. The Warblers welcomed him into their group. He has school on Monday and homework to complete before the weekend ends. Finn holds him to his chest, warming him up with his body heat.  
He must have learned something in Health Class. The heat soothes the persistent ache in his head. He needs something to quell the pain in his arm. Carole told them. He hears the words she uttered to them before the bullet hit his arm.  
_"No!" Carole says. "You're not taking my son away from me! Take him-take Kurt instead!" _  
She screamed at them. Paul spun on his heels and fired his gun. Kurt misses his father, wants him there to make things right. He thinks about school. The essay was due on Monday and Wednesday for his Calculus homework. The assignments sit in his room, waiting for his attention after a quiet Friday night dinner. This evening turned into a living nightmare.  
The three men stormed into their house with guns, looking for loot and leverage. They talked about insuring the garage's safety. Paul found the two boys downstairs in the kitchen, preparing for a meal with their mother. Carole made her choice. He moans into Finn's chest.  
"It's alright," Finn says, "I promise-I _promise-_I won't let them hurt you."  
"You can't stop them," he says with a hoarse gasp, "They already hurt me. My arm-please, see if they have any more whiskey."  
"Okay," he agrees, "Please, let him have some more whiskey. He needs something for the pain."  
Simon turns sideways in his seat, regarding them with cool eyes.  
"Give him the whiskey," Simon says, "it should quiet him down a little. I don't want to hear this the whole way."  
The flask rests against his lips. He drinks the whiskey, less reluctant this time, and he splutters at the wretched taste. The liquor travels through his stomach in an instant. He feels a slight buzz in his head and closes his eyes. Pain stings through his arm. He moans again, disturbing the tense silence in the sedan. The flask returns.  
"Drink it Kurt," Simon demands, "it'll make you feel better."  
He drinks half of the flask, hating himself for wanting the whiskey in the first place. Finn keeps him upright and resting against his chest. The taste of fermented barley lingers on his tongue. He despises alcohol. It always leads to bad things. He remembers the way his chest burned when Blaine exchanged a drunken kiss with Rachel. This hurts more and at the time, he was certain nothing could be worse than that evening.

His arm burns with bright pain. Tonight is worse. He can deal with an oblivious lead singer and Rachel Berry. These men put him in this car, forcing him to leave his home. Finn looms over him on the seat. He takes comfort in his presence, because he has nothing else to hold onto at the moment. The weekend promised a fun group project with New Directions.

He misses his old school and he feels out of place in his new private school. They drive for hours. Paul stops at a fast food restaurant and he lets them out of the car. Kurt has no energy or strength to walk. They make him urinate on the side of the road. Finn helps him through it while Simone watches. He feels self-conscious as he zips up his blood stained jeans and shuffles back to the car.

The stitches in his arm hurt. His whole body aches, pain curls around his chest every time he tries to move his wounded limb. Paul and Joey come back with food for them. They eat grease covered chicken and Kurt throws it up an hour later, unable to keep the heavy meal down. Paul has the courtesy to stop the sedan and let him vomit on the asphalt. He curls around Finn, sick and miserable as he finally succumbs to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

When he wakes, he discovers farmland and a sleeping stepbrother. He groans as he moves his arm. Pain shoots through his body. He looks down and sees his bare chest. Memories fly into his mind. Simon stares at him for a moment. He meets his gaze, trying not to show his fear.  
They drive for hours before the sedan stops again. He sees nothing except a long row of agricultural land. The drive leaves him aching, every movement hurts his arm. It hurts worse than yesterday. His stomach rumbles. He needs to eat and hopes he can keep a meal down this time. Not bothering to turn his head away from Finn's stomach, he growls at Simon.  
"We need to eat something," he says, "it's been hours since we stopped."  
Simon smiles.  
"Take the next exit," the blond commands, "I know a place."  
He wonders about their ultimate destination and lacks the courage to ask the three men. They _shot _him in the arm last night. He feels the pull of the stitches in his shoulder and screams as he tries to move it. The car spins away from him. When he can focus again, he sees cigarette smoke and a motionless sedan all around him. The pain keeps him curled up on the seat. Simon puffs on his cigarette, waiting for the others to return.  
"They have take out for you," he says, "I already ate."  
Glancing around the car, he bites his lip in fear when he finds Finn gone.  
"He's inside," Simon says, "enjoying a hot meal. She chose you, so you get to wait."  
_"No, not my son!" She screamed. "Take Kurt instead!" _  
He nods in understanding. She faced a terrible choice; her son or her stepson. They forced her hand. He suffered for Finn's sake. Paul aimed his gun and pulled the trigger. They wanted to maim him. He sees the determination in Simon's eyes and the hatred in Joey.

Finn comes out of the restaurant ten minutes later and tries to feed him. The grease makes him cringe. He blocks out the smell of fried eggs and forces down a biscuit. The bread settles his stomach. Still wrapped in the blood stained blanket, he eats half the meal and lies back down on the seat. The food tastes right and his stomach calms down. He lies against Finn as Paul starts the sedan again.

"We're in Michigan," Finn says, "They're taking us to the fields-that's what they said. I don't know what they mean."

"Are you going to bury us there, Simon?" He croaks, feeling hot.  
Finn pulls him closer, worry set in his eyes.  
"Oh God," Finn says, "let us go-_please_."  
"You're a part of us," Paul says, "and no, we aren't burying anyone today. You'll _work _in the fields, you idiots."

He can barely breathe, let alone work. The idea terrifies him. He put in some hard hours at the garage. Fields meant sun and cold. He could do it with a good arm. They must want him to fail. He does not stand a chance, working in a _field _in his current condition.

When they stop for the last time, they arrive at a farm. Paul orders them out of the car.

"Our final destination," he says, "take them around back-I'll let the boss know that they're here."  
"Where are we?" He demands as Finn slides an arm under his legs and lifts him out of the car, carrying him like a child.

The sun feels warm against his hot skin. He brings the blanket with him, hating the idea of being so exposed to strangers. Finn walks past a large farmhouse. A double wide trailer comes into view. He sees rows of trailers. A few curious faces stare at the two boys as they walk to the front door. The faces look dark, afraid, and troubled. He stares back at them and moans in pain.

"Sorry," Finn says, "they want us to go inside."

"This is your new home," Joey says, "until further notice."

The furniture belongs in the seventies. He sees cracks in the linoleum and the walls look like they need a fresh coat of paint. The kitchen reeks like cat piss. He twists his nose up at the trailer. The place feels _old. _He cannot stay here, not when he hurt so much. The sight of the single bedroom frightens him.

Finn lies him down on the bed. He grips the blanket and shudders as the light comes on. The bed feels better than the car. He welcomes this change. Finn retrieves a warm washcloth and cleans his face with it. He leans into the wet rag, grateful for the moist water upon his face. Finn takes the rag away, replacing it with a clean blanket.

"Here," he whispers, "they gave us some things for our stay."

"It's cold in here." He complains.  
"You're hot," Finn mutters, "not cold. I don't know what that means, Kurt. I'm not a doctor. Jesus, you need one."

The room goes out of focus. He falls into an uneasy sleep. Blaine dances his way into his dream. He kisses his shoulder, easing the pain with his lips. Kurt feels loved in his broad arms. They lie together on his bed. He lets Blaine comfort him in the dark trailer.

Finn wakes him for breakfast. He manages to sit up for a while propped up against the old pillows. Their bedroom looks dreadful. He eats a tortilla and eggs. The food smells wonderful. He eats the farm grown food without hesitation. His stomach rumbles with happiness once he finishes the eggs.

He lies back down on the bed after the meal. Finn whispers a concerned goodbye.

"I have to go outside," he says, "Simon's waiting. I'll-I'll be soon, okay?"

The news frightens him. He rolls onto his back, crying out as he moves. Finn reaches for his arm and steadies his body on the bed.

"Okay." He whispers, already dreading the loneliness of the trailer. "I'll be here when you get back."  
"Try and sleep," Finn says, "I'll see if there's anyway to escape-or maybe ask someone for help. There are a lot of people around here."  
"Be careful Finn." He says.  
"I will." Finn rises from the bed. "I gotta go. Simon is in the hallway now."

The door slams shut. He hears the sound of the old lock turning and then a heavy silence befalls his senses. Birds sing outside the small window. He listens to their endless chirping and he misses his stepbrother, stepmother, and father. His dad went on a supply run to Columbus and planned on staying overnight in the city. Carole stayed behind to work and look after their children. He sniffles and falls into a fit of sobs.

His cries go unheard in the empty trailer. His dad would let him see a doctor, he would take him home, he would not separate him from Finn. He sobs until Blaine comes to visit him. His smile warms his heart. He reaches out to take his hand. Blaine vanishes as soon as he tries to touch him. They might have a chance together if he can live through this, if he survives.

When the sun moves to the opposite side of the trailer Finn comes back. Storming into the trailer, he hurries past the round kitchen and to the small bedroom. He smells like sweat and dirt. The bed creaks as he sits on the edge of the mattress. Touching his forehead with the back of his hand, he offers him a soft tortilla and some kind of beef. He turns down the meal. His stomach churns at the thought of beef.

"They made me work," Finn says, "I don't think anyone here is going to help us."

The way he says it alarms him. He does not want to stay here alone.

"I can't work like this," he admits, "they left me here."

Finn rubs his back. They need showers. He can smell his own sweat and dried blood lingers on his chest. Sitting upright, he drinks the water Finn brings him. He's too afraid to ask his stepbrother to help him shower. They get along despite their very different lives, but he thinks Finn will freak out if he admits to needing help in the shower.

He keeps his silence as he lies down again. Sitting against the pillows requires too much effort if he stays in that upright position for too long. He lost a lot of blood. Blood dried in his hair last night. He longs for a shower, a chance to scrub himself clean. Finn wipes his face with a wet rag and looks towards the bathroom. Perhaps his appetite will return later this evening, now that he has some company aside from birds.

"I think I'm gonna shower," Finn says, "Listen, I think you should wait to shower. Maybe tomorrow, when you feel better and you can sit up longer than five minutes."

He could shower with Finn's assistance. An insult comes to his lips, but he keeps silent. He needs Finn to stay with him. If he gets angry, he might leave. The thought troubles him. Blaine would help him shower if he asked. Their friendship ran deep; he hoped every day it would become something more.

"Alright," he replies, "I'll be here."

The words sound bitter, but he cannot stop the simmering fear inside his heart. He lies in the bed and listens to the sound of running water. Finn sings in the shower at home. This time he stays silent. He hates being trapped in this room. When the water stops, Finn emerges from the bathroom in new pajamas. He rummages around the bedroom and produces a smaller, matching pair for Kurt.

"You need help changing?" He asks as he sets the new clothes on the bed. "I can-I can help you."

"I can't move my arm," he says, "of course I need help."

Finn grunts at him as he moves closer.

"Don't be like that," he says, "don't be _mean_."

He wants a shower before he puts on his new, hideous plaid pajama pants. Putting them on when he still had blood on his body bother him. He quells his temper, biting down on his lip to prevent a retort he would regret later. Finn removes his shirt. Mindful of his arm, Finn slips the new shirt over his head. He hesitates as he looks at his pants.

"I can help you change," Finn says, "Here, move your hips a little."

The bed creaks as he complies with the request. He feels awkward when Finn slides his pants down his legs. The pants slide onto his body with ease. He releases a sigh of relief once he's dressed. His arm throbs after all of the movement. He lies in the blankets and Finn touches his forehead.

"You're still hot," he says, "I don't know what else to do."  
"I want to go home," he replies, "did you find out anything today?"  
"I want to go home too," Finn answers, "not really-I-they were watching me today. _All of them_. Simon made me work with them-those people that live in the other trailers. We worked in the field and they watched me like Coach Sylvester watches her Cheerios. I think we have to stay here."  
The bed shakes as Finn slides onto the other side of the bed. He wraps his arm around Kurt. They lie in the dark and cry, afraid they were condemned to this hollow trailer forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

A day turns into a week. The pain in his arm never goes away. He learns to live with the constant ache in his limb. The pain stays and he showers on his own four days later. Hot water soothes him for a few moments. He scrubs away the blood and dirt from his body. The water around his feet turns brown.  
They keep him in the trailer. Finn learns Spanish from the other workers. They teach him their dialect and he comes home each day muttering fluently in a foreign language. Finn brings him meals from the kitchen. He eats little. Worry creeps into his chest as each day passes. His father must know what happened.  
The stress will place pressure on his heart. He hopes his dad can handle this. The shower brings him a moment of peace. He imagines Blaine's warm smile as he walks back towards the bedroom. Dalton would rehearse this week. He hears the faint melody of _Teenage Dream _in his head. The music raises his spirit.

He sits in the living room, wrapping himself in a clean blanket. The couch has cat hair all over it. He ignores the hair and looks at the locked door. The men keep their door locked at all times. They escort Finn in and out of the trailer. They keep him locked inside. He stays in the cold trailer for weeks.

The pain in his arm stays with him. A constant ache resides in his injured limb. No matter which way he moves his arm, the motion causes him pain. He makes himself a sling out of two pillow cases. After a month of being inside the trailer, he wraps the sling over his shoulder as Finn monitors the movement. They lose weight.

His appetite leaves him. Finn eats every meal and he still loses weight. The hard hours in the winter weather wears on him. He becomes as quiet as his stepbrother. They pass the days in desperation. His arm remains in the sling, he aches every day. They share the single bed each night.

He misses his own room and the privacy it allows him. Another month passes by. When the first spring flowers arrive, Simon enters the trailer and hands him a cell phone. He hears shuffling. His father grunts into the phone and his eyes water. Heavy breathing falls upon his ears.

"Kurt?" Burt asks. "Are you there?"

"_Dad," _he answers, "I wish I could see you."  
"Are you alright?" His dad sniffles. "Carole-she said they _shot _you."  
Flicking his gaze down, he looks at the sling on his arm.  
"I'll live," he says, "are _you _okay?"  
"I'm fine," Burt replies, "I worry about you. I miss you."  
He sniffles.  
"I miss you," he says as he cries, "I want to come home, Dad."  
Burt sucks in a breath.  
"I know," he says, "and I _promise _to bring you back. I promise."  
Simon grabs the phone from his hand and points at Finn.  
"Go outside."  
Pressing the phone to his ear, Simon watches Finn depart and turns his beady eyes onto Kurt.  
"Get the job done Mr. Hummel," Simon commands, "your son will live-although I cannot say he will live _well_."  
The words chill his soul. He sits on the couch and cradles his arm to his chest. Simon ends the call with his father. He looks at the floor, too afraid to meet his eyes. The gunshot hurt. His breath comes in short gasps. Simon steps forward and leans over him.  
"We're sending Finn home," he says, "you're staying here."  
Simon spins on his heels and leaves the trailer. He stays on the couch. Sobs run through his body. He huddles in the blanket and tries to think of happier times. Rain splatters against the roof. He sits there until morning. Simon feeds him once a day.

His stomach growls every evening as he stencils on the walls of the trailer. Someone left a set of drawing pencils in the small desk. He keeps them between his fingers during the day. The trailer creaks around him. He hears things throughout the day. Families play outside in the afternoon. In the evening he hears the distant sound of someone practicing a trumpet.

The voices outside the trailer speak in Spanish. He cannot understand them nor can see them. The walls make an excellent canvas. He draws Dalton blazers and curly hair on one wall. On another wall, he sketches David Karofsky. The south wall contains portraits of his friends from McKinley. He writes the entire score of _Wicked _on the ceiling.

The weeks pass and he draws until the pencils break. When the hot summer sun blazes over the trailer, he sweats and discovers a sewing kit stashed away in a drawer one evening. He cleans the carpets and the ceilings with an old rag. It keeps him busy. The stench of cat piss ebbs after he scrubs the floors. The walls look less daunting. His stomach grumbles; it always rumbles after dark.

He eats morning meals after daybreak. The trailer rocks in the hot summer winds. Humidity seeps into his skin. At night, he lies in bed and misses his family. He longs for his friends. Blaine probably forgot about him by now. He wonders if he found a doting boyfriend.

Blaine Anderson becomes his friend again. At night, when he's lonely, he sits beside the portrait on the wall and he imagines a school day at Dalton. Sometimes he creates a playful date. They have dozens of one sided conversations. He sleeps in the bedroom each night and wishes for freedom. Even McKinley sounds better than the empty trailer. The days go on.

Simon comes for him on a hot summer night. Mosquitos buzz around his head as he steps into the trailer. He stands in the kitchen and looks at him. Simon brings him meals every day. He never visits him at night. Holding out a paper plate, he offers him some cooked flatbread. He rips the plate out of the man's hands and shoves the rare treat into his mouth. Moths filter into the trailer.

"Go outside," Simon says as he finishes the food, "wait for me by the steps."

He walks out of the trailer and steps out into the warm night. The fresh air swirls around his body. He keeps his arm in a sling because he _still _cannot move it the right way. Something went awry in his healing, he knows it. He walks down the metal steps and stands at the bottom. Simon comes outside. Holding several long pieces of rope in his hands, he walks down the steps.  
"We have a job for you," he says as he approaches, "hold out your hands."  
Too afraid to reply, he holds out shaking hands. A pair of scissors appears. Simon cuts off his sling. He watches it fall to the soft dirt beneath his feet. Pain shoots through his arm. His arm flops to his side. Simon grabs his wrists.

He feels a tingling sensation in his arm as Simon wrenches it behind his back. Rope slides across his skin, binding his wrists together. He flinches at the pain coursing through his bicep. Simon ties a longer piece of rope to his wrists and pulls him forward. His feet follow the rope. He marches down a dark path. His breath comes in rapid beats.

An owl hoots in a tree. He walks down the path as his knees wobble. His arm burns. A full moon drifts across the sky. Simon leads him into a cotton field. He stops in front of an old, tall wicker post. The rope flies into the air.

Simon hauls him onto the small ledge, his muscles bulging. He trembles while the rope wraps around his legs and the wood slides up his back. His body hangs in the twine, bound to the wooden post meant for scarecrow. He stares at Simon as tears slide down his face. The field stretches for miles. He sees nothing except dark rows of cotton. Simon turns away from him.

He finds his voice before he leaves.

"Wait!" He says. "Please-don't leave me here!"  
Sweat beads along his forehead. He pulls at the ropes, trying to free his wrists. Simon walks away from him.  
"Your father needs some motivation," he says with his back turned, "and Carole wants her son to stay home. She said we should take you instead, so we did. You're better company than your brother anyways. Your artwork is good."  
Strolling back to the path, Simon disappears into the night. His muscles ache and fire burns through his arm. He hangs there on the post for hours. The sun rises over the trees. Families filter into the field. Their dark eyes stare up at him in sympathy. No one cuts him down.  
When the sun hangs over his head, a tall and lanky boy brings him water. He climbs up onto the post and shoves a water bottle into his mouth. The water cools his sweltering mouth. He drinks it, whimpering with pain as he moves. The stranger peers at him and pulls the water bottle away from his mouth. He sighs in defeat. The boy slides his eyes down his body.  
"To think I came home from Paris for this," he says, "Simon said you were cute. Can't say I'm impressed."  
He turns his head away, wishing the boy would leave him alone. The teen offers him more water. He drinks and coughs at the end, hoping the boy will cut him down.  
"Please help me down," he asks, "_please_."  
The boy stares at him, shaking his head.  
"I can't," he says, "but-I can talk to Simon, see if he's willing to cut you down yet. Nice artwork, Kurt-I saw what you did to the trailer."  
He blinks at the boy.  
"Who are you?" He coughs and closes his eyes.  
The sun burns his eyes. His entire body aches. Every muscle tenses with pain. He thinks about death. Muted Spanish drifts towards him. He hears the families working in the field. They whisper to each other throughout the day.  
"My name's Sebastian," the boy says as he climbs down from the post, "I'll go see if I can talk the guys out of this-course of action. They might let me cut you down if I ask nicely."  
"Please," he begs, "_please _get me down from here."  
The trailer sounds welcoming compared to the field. Opening his tired eyes, he watches Sebastian hurry toward the path. The lean teen walks under the giant birch trees and disappears from view. He releases a pained sigh. Carole put him here. A bitter taste of hate seeps into his heart.  
He thinks about Finn and his hate dissolves. His stepbrother could take his place, but he does not want that. He licks his dry lips and stares into the blue sky. Clouds drift across the sky. They _made _her choose between them. He imagines he would make the same choice, because he would never wish this kind of suffering on anyone, let alone Finn. He hangs from the post and wishes for death.


	4. Chapter 4

Sebastian returns at sunset. A long knife slices through the ropes. Unable to move his arms or legs, he collapses onto the ground. His cheek connects with upturned dirt. He lies on the ground and whimpers. Sebastian pulls him into a sitting position. Leaning against his chest, he stares at the pink horizon.

The sun sets while Sebastian coaxes him onto his feet. He hooks his arm around Sebastian's long shoulder. His feet almost drag across the ground. Sebastian carries most of his weight. He stumbles down the moonlit path. Foxes dart through the field. He holds onto Sebastian and forces his feet to keep moving.

When the trailer comes into view he sighs in relief. Sebastian hauls him inside. The door closes behind them and cool air grazes his skin. Sebastian drags him over to the couch. He falls onto the old sofa, moaning with renewed pain. His arm burns. Sebastian walks down the narrow hall.  
"I'll get the bed ready for you," he says from the bedroom, "Simon left you some fresh supplies in the bathroom."  
The thought of spending the night alone frightens him. He misses Finn. The trailer smells like cat piss again. He lies on the couch and tries to ignore the stench. The floor creaks. Sebastian comes into the living room. He flicks his eyes towards the bathroom.  
"I could use a shower," he says as he sits upright, "I'm covered in sweat."  
Being on the post all day left him weak and sore. He needs a hot shower. Standing on his own could lead to a major challenge. He wishes he could speak to his father. Sebastian eyes him with a curious look. He wipes sweat away from his forehead. His fingers tremble.  
"You can take one in the morning," Sebastian replies, "I'll help you to the bed."  
Bending down, Sebastian wraps his arm around his shoulder and pulls him onto his feet. He stumbles down the hall. His muscles tense with pain as he moves. Sebastian sets him down on the bed. He lies on the old mattress. Sweat slides down his back. The room feels stuffy and hot.  
"Don't leave me here," he says as Sebastian turns towards the narrow doorway, "please don't leave me here alone."  
He feels no shame in his plea. The trailer wraps around his senses like a blanket. He breathes in the familiar scent, grateful for his freedom from the wooden post. The ropes left bruising marks on his wrists and ankles. Sebastian turns back and stands in the doorway. He stares at the handsome teen, hoping for more kindness. Sebastian stares at the bed.  
"I'm not sleeping in here," he says, "this place is a hole."  
The reply sends a dagger through his heart. He misses Finn's thick arms and whispered comfort. The light flicks off. Sebastian leaves the room. He turns onto his stomach, groaning at the tightness in his muscles. He hears footsteps in the living room and the sound of the door opening. Sebastian walks out of the trailer, leaving him to the darkness.  
Tears fall down his sun kissed face. He misses his father. His arm burns with pain. He lies in the dark for a long while. Exhaustion seeps into his mind. He twitches in the bed until the sun comes up. Unable to sleep, he manages to sit upright and stretch his muscles.

Sunlight creeps into the trailer as he hobbles into the shower. He tests the water until it turns hot and then he steps inside the small shower. The water soothes his muscles. He stands under the spray for at least an hour. Stepping out of the shower, he grabs a towel from the counter. The cotton fabric dries his skin. He wraps a towel around his waist and steps back into the hall.

"You clean up nicely," Sebastian whispers into his ear, "we could have some fun this summer."  
He startles at his smooth, low voice. The comment throws him. He stares at Sebastian with an uncomfortable glare and walks into the bedroom.  
"I wouldn't call this place _fun_," he replies, "I'm being tortured."  
A tear runs down his cheek. He hates this place. Every day he wakes up, he faces another long and lonely day inside the trailer. He wanted company last night. Sebastian turned away from him. He left him tied to that post. The short walk back to the bed feels like a mile.  
"I have breakfast for you," Sebastian says, "I cooked it for you."  
He shuffles down the hall and sits in the tiny round kitchen. The chairs belong in nineteen sixty. He plops into an ugly green chair. A plate of eggs and fresh vegetables waits for him on the little round table. He stares at the strawberries and juice. The bread looks homemade.  
"Help yourself," Sebastian says as he sits at the table, "there should be plenty."  
Plucking a strawberry out of the bowl, he eats it carefully. His entire body aches. He works on the eggs and vegetables with slow movement. The morning feels hot. He misses his family as he does every day. Sebastian watches him eat. He starts on a piece of bread when the silence breaks.  
"I didn't want to leave last night," Sebastian says, "I-I have to do what they say."  
He finishes the bread and drinks a cup of orange juice. Having a full meal like this was better than the meager portions Simon gave him. He feels grateful for the extra food. It makes his day a bit better. He hopes Sebastian cooks for him more often. For the first time in months, he feels full.  
"Thank you," he says with a quiet whisper, "I hope you'll cook again sometime."  
Sebastian leans forward in his chair.  
"Anytime," he answers, "Simon said you barely ate. Knowing Simon, I guessed that meant he only fed you once a day."  
"For months," he replies, "it's one thing being trapped in here-but not having enough food? That's something I never had to deal with before coming here."  
"They said I could see you," Sebastian says, "so I can at least make sure you have enough to eat, alright?"  
The offer sounds better than starving through most of the day. He nods and stares at his empty plate.  
"Okay," he answers, "will they let you do that?"  
Sebastian reaches for his hand. Long fingers touch his skin. He looks at the hands encircling his own and confusion fills his mind. This boy left him under the hot sun yesterday. He also brought him real food today. The kindness touches him. He feels alone in the trailer.  
"It shouldn't be a problem," he says, "they never stop me from cooking-and Simon would rather pass off of the responsibility of having to feed you to someone else."  
He hears uncertainty in Sebastian's voice. Simon held power over him as well. He can see the fear in the other boy's eyes when he says the man's name. Simon scared Sebastian. He wonders why.  
"You're afraid of Simon," he says as he looks into his eyes, "Why?"  
Sebastian leans back in his chair, shifting with nervous energy.  
"My father, well, he's in other people's business," he replies, "and right now, he's interested in _your _father's business."  
He shoots him a blank look.  
"I don't understand," he says, "my dad is a _mechanic._"  
Burt Hummel built engines and changed oil for a living. The garage consisted of one small, local operation. He knew his father paid taxes every year; he spent a week complaining about income taxes every April. He spent too much time in the garage as a kid. The books were kept well. He learned how to do data entry when he was eleven. The garage existed in a small business park, which gave them an advantage with local patrons.  
"From what I understand," Sebastian continues, "my father needs a mechanic for some kind of project-I'm not entirely sure why. You're here _because _of that project. I hear your dad is causing trouble. That's why you're here."  
He absorbs the new information with morbid curiosity. _No one pushes the Hummels around. _He hears his father's voice in his head and smiles. They had some fight left in them still. He thinks about the wooden post and he knows they punished him for something his father did. Sebastian smiles at him and rubs his fingers across Kurt's knuckles. He shivers with the unexpected touch.  
"Do you know how long I'll be here?" He asks after a moment of heavy silence. "Will they _ever _let me leave?"  
The answer terrifies him. Sebastian's fingers run across his hand. He watches them move, wary of their intentions. Pulling his hand away, he places his hand in his lap. Sebastian tucks his hands under the table top.  
"They won't let _me _leave," Sebastian replies, "I'm stuck here until the beginning of fall term. I have no idea about you. I think it's a big project."  
"I want to go home," he says, "I'm trapped here."  
Sebastian stands and shrugs his shoulders.  
"We can make the best of it," he answers, "I'll be back for lunch."  
The lanky teen turns away from the kitchen and walks out of the trailer. He watches him leave. The familiar sounds of morning fill the air. He listens to the birds chatter at each other and after a few moments, he gets out of his chair. These men kept him away from his family. He missed months of school. They might keep him in this small prison forever.  
He slips into bed and contemplates his future. Carole saved Finn. His stepbrother left so long ago. He hopes he made it home safely. They might torture him again. He trembles at the notion, feeling the pain from yesterday's event. They could do anything they wanted with him.  
"They _own_ me," he realizes, "Mom."  
The cry emerges from his lips before he can stop it. He longs for his mother, even though he last saw her years ago. She protected him from the world when no one else did. He thinks about her fair beauty and if he listens closely, he hears her laugh. Memories from his childhood wash over him. He wonders what she would think about this place. Her memory haunts him as he falls into a fitful sleep.  
He wakes to the sound of the door opening. Bolting upright, he wraps a thin afghan around his bare shoulders. He peers down the hallway. Sebastian comes into the trailer, carrying a foil wrapped plate of food. He slides out of the bed and groans as he puts a fresh pair of clothes on. The jeans fit him well. The yellow t-shirt go with the dark denim.  
"Thank you for the clothes," he says, "and the meal."  
Sebastian strolls into the kitchen, smiling as he sets the plate on the table.  
"I thought the yellow would go well with your eyes," he replies, "you have the pleasure of tasting my fabulous cuisine."  
He walks into the kitchen and sits at the table again. Sebastian unwraps the plate, revealing vegetables and baked chicken. He eats the meal without complaint. Sebastian sets a mid-sized bag on the table. He looks at the bag. Sebastian pulls out a sketchpad and a box of colored pencils. He pushes the empty plate aside. His belly rumbles with happiness.  
"I thought you could do some drawing," Sebastian says, "I'm going into town for a few hours-they let me have the car for the afternoon."  
"Thank you," he replies, "you could stay here for a while."  
Having company for more than fifteen minutes sounded nice. He looks at Sebastian with hope. They could share a comfortable silence. Sebastian shakes his head. He shifts his gaze to the floor, sorry for another afternoon on his own.  
"You're stuck here," Sebastian says, "I'm not. Look, I'll bring you back something from town-a burger or something, okay?"  
He nods as tears form in the corner of his eyes. Sebastian hurries out of the trailer. He keeps his eyes on the floor, knowing he might sleep more once he leaves anyways. His muscles ache with old tension. He keeps his injured arm at his side, afraid to move it. The fresh pillow cases could make another sling. He tries to keep his voice steady.  
"I'll see you later, right?" He asks. "When you get back?"  
Sebastian hollers at him through the closed door.  
"I'll be back later!"  
He listens to Sebastian's quick departure. Once his footsteps fade into the daylight, he rises from his chair. His bare feet glide across the old carpet. He tries not to think about the things that must crawl in the dirty carpet. The bed shifts as he lies down on it once again. His shoulder twitches with pain. He waits for Sebastian.  
The sun sets after eight p.m. He watches the sky change color from the tiny window in the living room. The frogs begin to sing. His stomach grumbles as he sits on the couch, waiting. He stays there until sunrise. Simon arrives with breakfast. He eats a meager meal involving flatbread and rice.  
Another day passes before Sebastian visits. He sits on the couch after dusk, trembling with hunger. Sebastian glides into the trailer. The plate clasped in his hands catches Kurt's eyes. He reaches up for the plate with shaking hands. Not bothering to ask him for permission, he wolfs down a cold cheeseburger and fries. The food tastes stale.  
He does not give much care to the taste. The meal does little to satisfy his uneasy stomach. He finishes the food, grateful for the extra offering. At least he still got something tonight. Sebastian joins him on the couch. He smells like whiskey. The couch sinks beneath their combined weight.  
"I'm feeling generous tonight," Sebastian says, "I ended up having a _great _time in town. Why don't we-_share_-your bed tonight?"  
The offer surprises him. He refuses to turn down company. Nodding his agreement, he takes him by the hand. They stand and walk into the bedroom. His knees wobble. He hopes Sebastian will feed him again in the morning. Simon kept him hungry.  
"We could have so much _fun,_" Sebastian says, "I could show you some of my-_tricks_."  
"You're drunk," he replies, "and I'm not interested in that kind of _fun_."  
Sex was the last thing he wanted to think about. He slips into Sebastian's long embrace.  
"Why didn't you stay before?" He asks with a low whisper.  
Sebastian slides his hands down his slide. He lets him have the touch. If it means more food tomorrow, he will do whatever it takes to make Sebastian happy. He likes the company anyways. If he had his choice, Blaine would warm his bed. He smiles at the thought of his friend. Blaine must have moved on by now.  
"I have my reasons," he whispers, "Simon wants me to stay tonight. I-have a job to do."  
His breath hitches in the dark.  
"What _kind _of job?" He asks.  
"I'm supposed to take photos," he replies, "of you-without your shirt on."  
He trembles at the idea.  
"Why?" The answer terrifies him.  
"So we can send them to your father," Sebastian answers, "but don't worry-I-wouldn't take it any further than that."  
He thinks about refusing; his stomach rolls. Nausea bubbles inside his gut. Going hungry again makes him weary. He bites his lip, hating himself for agreeing.  
"Why are they doing this to me?" He asks as sits up. "Why are they doing this to my father?"  
Sebastian places his hands on his shoulders.  
"They need to make him understand something about organization," he replies, "I'm sorry _you _have to suffer because of it. It's not like I _want _to take these pictures-Simon _ordered _me to. I can't refuse them. We don't have to do it _right _at this moment. We have the entire night. Maybe you should rest first."  
Stalling the impromptu photo shoot sounds like a brilliant idea. He lies back down, grateful for his companion and dreading the impending photographs. The night falls over them. He does not rest. Sebastian falls asleep. He listens to him breathe. The hours pass in slow, frightened breaths.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The front door opens, jolting Kurt awake. He blinks at the dark figure standing in the narrow doorway. Simon peers at them and flicks on the light. Sebastian stirs on the bed. Opening his eyes, he starts and bolts onto his feet when he sees Simon. Kurt remains on the bed. He's too frightened to move.

A digital camera rests in Simon's smooth hands. Passing the camera over to Sebastian, Simon folds his arms across his chest. Sebastian blinks at Simon and takes the camera into his hands.  
"Take his shirt off, Sebastian." Simon instructs. "Keep him on the bed like that."  
Sebastian shakes his head.  
"I'm not doing that," he says, "he can take it off himself, or we can just take the pictures like this. It won't matter either way-Hummel will _still _respond to them. You know he will!"  
He lies still, refusing to move unless they make him. They might trigger another heart attack. He thinks about his father's weak heart as he lies there. They tied him to a post all day. He wonders what other horrors await him. Sebastian leans over his prone body. His lips form an unhappy frown.  
"It will be easier on you if you cooperate," Sebastian says, "take off your shirt."  
They want to hurt his father. He shakes his head, refusing to give into their demands. His dad was the most important person in his life. He could never do anything to intentionally harm him. Reaching for his injured arm, Simon grabs onto his shoulder and yanks him upright. He cries out in pain. Simon lifts the hem of his shirt up.  
"Stop it," Sebastian says, "I can get him to take it off, just-give me a few minutes with him."  
Swinging his arm back, Simon brings his fist down upon Kurt's ribs in one swift motion. Knuckles crash against his side. He curls into a fetal position and brings his arms up to his face, trying to protect himself from the coming blows. Simon steps away from the bed. A flash flickers through the room. He turns his face away from the camera. Another flash goes off. Sebastian steps in front of the bed.  
"I can handle it," he insists, "There's no need for any of that!"  
"You have an hour," Simon replies as he leaves the room, "I expect some good shots."  
"I can do that," Sebastian says, "I'll have them ready."  
The door bangs open. Simon leaves the trailer and slams the door shut again. He stays on the mattress, recoiling from the new pains in his body. Sebastian sits on the edge of the bed. Their hurried breaths fill the room. He cries on the sheets. An owl captures his attention and he listens to the constant hooting.  
"I'm not taking off my clothes," he says, "I'm _not_."  
The clothes matter to him, because he knows that they want to show his body to his own father. He shakes his head and keeps his eyes firmly closed. They will have to pry them from his body. He fought his class mates every day when he went to school. They cornered him and tormented him throughout the day. This felt no different, aside from the lingering threat of being naked in front of this boy. Dave terrorized him in the hallways.  
He hugs the thin t-shirt close to his body. Sebastian must rip it from his chest. He holds onto the cotton material as hard as he can. A light flickers above his head. He shies away from the light, hoping his father will not see his face. The sheets rustle around him.  
"I think this will do," Sebastian says, "this makes you look more exposed."  
A flash assaults his senses. He sniffles as Sebastian takes an endless series of photos.  
"Simon has no imagination," he says, "one look at you in this state, and your dad will never think twice about trying to save you."  
His stomach rumbles with hunger. He opens his eyes and stares up at Sebastian, tears streaming down his face.  
"Had enough yet?" He asks with bitterness.  
Sebastian lowers the camera. A tight smile appears on his face. Sweat drips down his face. He looks down at him, frowning when he sees his fingers quivering from hunger.  
"You're hungry," he replies, "I'll go get you something from the kitchen-after I show these to Simon."  
He turns around and hurries away from the bedroom. The floors creak beneath his footsteps. Sebastian disappears from the trailer. Kurt lies on the bed, exhausted and worried for his father. The pains in his body keep him awake. When the sun crawls over the horizon, Sebastian comes back with a meal.

He sits up as he enters the trailer once more. The leftover pasta tastes cold. He eats it anyway, happy for the chance to fill his unruly stomach. Sebastian brings a fresh change of clothes. He eyes the jeans and contemplates taking a shower. The thought of moving around today deters him. He looks at Sebastian's sandals and sighs.

"Did you speak to my father?" He asks. "Is he okay?"

His dad had heart problems. These men did not seem concerned about his health issues. He wonders about their motives, what they could gain from keeping him here for such a long time. Sebastian shakes his head. The other boy looks tired. He rests his head against the wall, trying to find the strength to get out of bed. The task seems impossible.

"Your dad is fine," Sebastian answers in a flat tone, "you should have seen the look on his face when he saw those pictures. He turned white."

He hangs his head, hating him for last night. The food begins to settle in his stomach. He moves to the end of the mattress. Sebastian hooks an arm around his waist. They sit together in silence. He does not want his help, but he knows he needs it. They move off of the bed and make their way towards the bathroom. He whimpers with pain.

The water helps soothe his aching body. Bruises damage his side. He had bruises like this at McKinley. The football team cornered him on a regular basis. Dave Karofsky shoved him so hard he had fingerprints on his arms for months. Simon hit him hard. Sebastian helps him into and out of the shower.

When he's dry, he lies down on the couch. He spends too much time in the bedroom. Sebastian leaves him again. He does not see him for several days. Time passes with the sun. He becomes accustomed to one meal a day once more. The summer drags ever onward.

Sebastian comes again on a late summer night, carrying a to go box into the trailer.

"I thought you might want a steak," he says, "so I brought you one from town."  
"I haven't seen you in awhile," he replies as he reaches for the white box, "is my Dad okay?"  
He's waited for weeks for any type of news. Simon slapped him for asking last month. He did not ask about his father again. Meals became a luxury. He wolfs down the steak. The food leaves him with a soft smile on his face. He looks up at Sebastian in hope.  
"Please tell me he's still alive," he says, "I've been worried sick."  
Sebastian takes the empty box from his hands.  
"He's still alive, Kurt," he replies, "He's still trying to get you back."  
A look of guilt crosses over his handsome face.  
"I want to go home," he says, "I want to see him."  
He loves his father. The past few weeks drained his energy. He feels weak all of the time. Sleep comes easy for him. He always wakes up hungry and the hours pass without interruption. The trailer has become his home. He moves around the small space during the day.  
Every night, he dreams about his real home. He sees Dalton blazers in his dreams and Blaine courts him with song. Simon says very little to him during their brief interactions. He sees him once a day, usually mid-morning. The meals leave him hungry for more food. He misses the kitchen in his old home. Baking made him happy.  
His mother taught him to cook once he could understand simple instructions. They spent so much time in the kitchen together. Sometimes he lies or sits in the small kitchen and dreams about her laughter. Her memory clings to his mind. He holds onto her as hard as he can, always struggling to find solace in such stark isolation. Simon prefers to keep their interactions simple. He stopped speaking to him long ago.  
Sebastian remains his sole source for extra food and any kind of conversation. He wishes he spent more time with him in the trailer. The other boy might disappear for another month before he comes back. He remains grateful for the additional meal today. Sebastian rakes his dark eyes over his body. He wonders if he will see him again before the summer ends. Maybe he can convince him to bring him another meal.  
"I'm going back to school in the morning," he says, "I thought I would sleep here tonight."  
The announcement surprises him.  
"Okay," he whispers, "do you think I could-I could eat something else?"  
Sebastian nods and his heart bursts with renewed hope.  
"Sure," he answers, "we've got tons of stuff in the kitchen. I'll grab some things-I don't think Simon will care if I let you have some non-perishable food."  
He weeps as Sebastian leaves the trailer. When he comes back, he brings two plastic bags full of food. He sees the gift and throws his arms around Sebastian.  
"Thank you," he says, "thank you."  
He will have enough to eat for several days. Sebastian returns his embrace. He slides hands down his back.  
"You've been cooped up in here too long," he says as they move to the couch, "you _must _be ready for fun by now."  
Hope sparkles in Sebastian's eyes. Shaking his head, he lowers his arms to side.  
"I'm not interested in that," he replies, "I haven't seen you for weeks."  
Sebastian places a hand on his shoulder.  
"I've been busy," he says, "I won't be back for _months_."  
He shudders at the thought, knowing he faces many more months of lonely days. Sebastian frowns at his reaction.  
"I have to stay here," he says, "alone, don't I?"  
"I'm sorry," Sebastian answers, "it's not my decision-not _yet _anyways."  
He looks at the floor, pulling out of the embrace. Sebastian offers little comfort to him. He must stay here while the other boy goes back to school.  
"I'll stay tonight," he says, "and I'll see if I can pay one of the workers here to feed you."  
They sleep on the couch. He sleeps in Sebastian's embrace, knowing he will not see the other boy for months. His heart shutters in the morning when he leaves. They part without preamble. He watches as Sebastian opens the door, letting in bright daylight. Fall will arrive soon. He cries and Sebastian stares back at him.  
"I'll do what I can for you," he promises, "I have to go to school. Dalton-it's a nice place."  
He blinks at the name and looks at the artwork on the walls.  
"You're going to Dalton Academy?" He asks with surprise.  
"Yes," Sebastian answers, "I have to _work_, Kurt."  
He does not understand what he means by that. A hidden meaning rests within his words. He thinks about Blaine and knows he has two years of school left. Rising from the couch, he walks over to the wall and places his hand upon his drawing. Sebastian watches his weak movement. He touches Blaine's penciled in face. They just started their friendship.  
"Will you look out for him?" He asks. "Make sure he's doing okay?"  
Sebastian shrugs.  
"Sure," he says, "but _you _intrigue me, Kurt. I'll be back before you know it. I'll bet you'll be ready for my _attention _then."  
"I miss my dad," he replies, "maybe they'll let me go before then."  
"Maybe," Sebastian says, "but I wouldn't count on it."  
Sebastian departs the trailer with a cautious grace. He vanishes into the daylight, leaving Kurt alone. Time moves forward. He rations his food. The additional treats last him long into the winter. When he runs out, snow covers the ground. A young Spanish girl brings him a late supper every night.

He does not gain weight, because he should eat more since his body needs better nutrition. Winter leaves him cold and without proper clothing. Simon never brings him new clothing. He wears his summer clothes for months. Dirt stains his worn out jeans. He shivers during the nights, wrapped in a thin summer blanket.

Each dawn brings at least some daylight. The trailer feels warmest in late afternoon. He descends into endless despair. The meals remain meager. Simon never permits him to speak with his father. He worries about his family. Sebastian does not return for winter break.

The cold temperatures begin to fade and spring merges into summer. Simon beats him many times, each time neglecting to state a reason for his frequent pain. He takes photographs afterwards. His body becomes blue and purple. By the time summer arrives again, he cowers in the kitchen every time Simon walks into the trailer. Every morning he hides under the table and waits for the plate of food. He draws his knees to his chest and shivers as the door opens.

This routine leaves him panting for breath each day. He fears Simon. His fists hurt and he grows more impatient with him as time passes. He feels aches all over his bruised body. On a rainy summer morning, the door opens. He sits beneath the round table and waits for Simon to enter. A long pair of legs crosses the threshold.

Another set of polished shoes catches his eye. He watches as the nice shoes approach the kitchen table. The thought of another beating drains him. He slumps against his knees, tears already sliding down his cheeks. Simon beat him two days ago. He dreads more pain. They will never let him see his father again.

"Oh my _God," _Blaine Anderson says as he enters the kitchen, "Oh, Jesus. Kurt!"  
A head full of curls and gorgeous hazel eyes fill his vision. He blinks at him, wondering if the man kneeling in front of him was just another dream. Blaine reaches for his hands. Warm fingers wrap around his wrists. He crawls out from under the table on his knees and collapses into his arms. Blaine holds him in a protective embrace. He rests his head upon his chest.  
"Blaine?" He asks. "Dream. It's only a dream."  
Blaine shakes his head.  
"No," he replies, "I'm _real_. God, look at him."  
Blaine stares at Sebastian.  
"You were telling the truth," he says in shock, "I thought it was just another exaggeration-I thought you were just out to sabotage me again!"  
Sebastian rolls his eyes.  
"Not everything is about you," he replies, "You have an hour to get him out of here."  
He whips his gaze towards Sebastian.  
"I can leave?" He asks. "You're letting me go?"  
Hope and joy flicker insider his chest. He stares at Blaine in wonder.  
"What are you doing here?" He places his hand on Blaine's arm. "How did you get here?"  
Sebastian wiggles his eyebrows at them.  
"Can you walk on your own, Kurt?" He asks. "It's early. You should get going before the sun comes up. I don't think you'll want to be here for breakfast."  
He nods, not caring about the pain in his arm or the persistent ache in his back. Those pains plague him throughout the day. He struggles to stand. Blaine helps him onto his feet. Sebastian never brought him shoes. He remained barefoot through the winter. Dirt covers his feet.  
Blaine slides an arm around his waist and they walk out of the kitchen. He limps into the living room, disbelief filling his soul. Sebastian opens the front door. He looks at the rain and holds onto Blaine as they step into the cold drizzle. Fresh air feels foreign to him. He takes several gulping breaths, already exhausted from the short walk. Sebastian follows them into the rain.  
Strong, burly arms wrap around his shoulders. He looks up and finds his father staring down at him. A coat falls across his shoulders. He lets go of Blaine. His father engulfs him in a warm hug. He hurries away from the trailer. Sebastian guides them through the farm.  
They walk through a thick grove of trees and hobble down a dirt path. He splashes through the wet mud, not caring about his lack of shoes. His father helps him over to a Subaru parked beneath an old Willow tree. He stumbles to the car door. Blaine jogs to the car and opens the door before he can reach for the handle. Carole and Finn wait for him inside. Finn helps him into the back seat.

He slides onto the smooth leather seat and wraps his arms around his father's bulging waist. Tears cloud his eyes as Blaine slips into the passenger seat. Finn sits beside him, content to let him cling to his father for the moment. Carole starts the car. Finn covers him with a heavy wool blanket. He rests his body against his father. Sebastian leans across the window.

"Remember our deal," he says to Blaine, "I'll see you on Friday."  
Burt turns to glare at him.  
"See you then," he replies as he squeezes his son's arms, "we'll see you at dinner."

Sebastian smirks and turns his gaze onto Kurt.

"I think you'll be back on your feet by then," he says with a smile, "we'll talk later."

Sebastian removes his head from the window and steps away from the car. Carole rolls up the window. Pressing her foot to the gas pedal, she turns the steering wheel to the left. The sedan lurches forward. He shivers against his father. Finn blasts the heater. His Dad grabs another blanket from the back and drapes it across his body.

"We need to take him to a hospital Carole," Burt says, "he's so thin. Look at these _bruises._"

Carole shakes her head. Finn mimics his mother's movement. Blaine turns his body sideways and peers at him from the front. He sags against his dad, worried that he might take him to a hospital. The idea frightens him. He grips his father a bit tighter. Doctors would never understand _this_.

"You heard what they said Burt," Carole replies, "they said we can't do that if we want him to stay with us."

He looks at Blaine with questioning eyes.

"What?" He asks. "What did they say?"

Burt pulls him back against his side.

"Just keep driving," he instructs Carole, "we can-_I _can look after him."

Blaine smiles at him.

"Don't worry," Blaine says, "we'll make sure you stay with us, okay?"  
He gives him a confused and weak smile.  
"Okay."  
As the Subaru speeds down the two lane highway, he begins to drift asleep. He feels content and safe in his father's arms. Fear colors his father's face. He sees worry etched into all of their faces. Hunger and worry gnaw at his stomach. He does not ask them to stop. In his heart, he knows he wants to stay with his family.  
"It's not over," he whispers to his dad, "is it?"  
He wants this ordeal to end. The thought of returning to the trailer terrifies him. He shivers from the cold. Burt rubs his back and nods.  
"They said you could come home," his dad says with a choked whisper, "but no, it-they-_we _have to do what they say, or you have go back there. I-I'll do _everything _I can to stop that from happening."  
His heart thunders against his chest. He nods, wanting to know more but not having the courage or strength to ask. The last year and a half wore him down. He rests against his father's side. Tears run down his face. He needs to know more about this new situation. No one has explained Blaine's presence.

They cannot go to a hospital now. He needs to eat something. Holding onto his father's shirt, he looks up at him with a hopeful smile.

"Can we stop and get something to eat?" He asks.  
Burt looks down at him, tears staining his eyes.  
"Sure son," he says, "Carole, why don't we find a place to sleep tonight?"  
He sighs with relief. As long as he has enough food, he can handle whatever else comes his way. He wonders about Blaine and thinks they must have a talk after they eat a decent meal. Finn grins at him.  
"What do you want?" His stepbrother asks. "It's your choice."  
The question throws him. He has no idea how to answer Finn. For the last year, he had no choice or say in what he ate. He tries to remember what he ate before those men dragged him away from his home. Everyone in the car stares at him, including Carole. She looks into the rearview mirror and waits for an answer. He leans against his father, unable to provide them with a clear choice.  
"Just find a restaurant," Burt pleads, "he needs to eat."  
Carole averts her gaze. Blaine faces forward again. Finn offers him a sad smile. He still cannot think of anything other than rice, beans, and fresh vegetables. The thought of flatbread stirs his appetite. He tries to remember what kind of food he had in restaurants before. A heavy silence fills the Subaru as his family waits for an answer that never comes.


End file.
